


Fallen

by petcheetah



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Could be seen as Aziraphale/Crowley, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), He thought Aziraphale was dead, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Tired Crowley (Good Omens), sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 02:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petcheetah/pseuds/petcheetah
Summary: Once, there was an angel named Raphael. He asked too many questions.Once, there was a demon named Crowley. He was tired.These two facts are connected.





	Fallen

His name had been Raphael once, a very, very long time ago. He couldn’t even speak the name anymore. It burnt on his tongue if he even tried to do so, and he knew he deserved it. He had lost the right to that name, to the title of Archangel Raphael, when he had Fallen. Sometimes it made him angry, that he no longer had access to his God-Given name, but most of the time it just made him tired. It had been far too long since he had been able to call himself an Angel. The title given to the Fallen had been Demons. It was a harsh word. A  _ scorned  _ word. It was perfect for a being that had defied God and Their plan for them. 

He had not fallen because he had defied Them, no matter what he would say to the other Demons. All he did was ask questions, all he did was be curious about himself and his siblings _,_ but that was all it took for God to cast him out and strip him of all he had ever known. It had burnt. Falling, that is. It had burnt his wings, his beautiful white wings, to charcoal and rebuilt them as dark as the night. It had torn his soul to shred, ripped apart his very being until all that was Raphael was nothing but a small percent of himself.

God gave him the body of a snake. A creature that he, himself, had helped create. It had once had legs, but They had decided that not only was he to be punished but his creatures were to be punished as well. They lost the ability to walk, to  _ crawl _ .

He immediately changed his name. There was no use in having his name be something he couldn’t even speak aloud. He called himself Crawly, after the snakes that They had punished for his defiance of Them. He wanted to honour them in some ways, because he knew that with time the fact that they once had been able to crawl on their own feet would fade from the minds of everyone, even the Angels.

It was after many years -  _ was it years?  _ \- of being trapped in Hell side by side with the other Fallen that he was finally allowed to leave. They didn’t know who he had been, once. His soul was unrecognisable from that of an Archangels, and it wasn’t like Demons went around asking for the backstories of everyone they came across. They were not  _ friends.  _ Not in the slightest, however much his heart yearned to be able to talk to even a single person without being threatened, without their anger infecting his soul and making him just as angry. Without making this new, cruel side of him come out and spit back with so much fury and hatred.

When he was told to leave, all the instructions they gave him was to “get up there and cause some trouble.”

It was there, on the surface of Earth, in the Garden of Eden, that he met the angel Aziraphale. When he was Raphael, he spent more time than not out in the stars, creating. He had never met the youngest fledglings, and by the awe that was in the Angels voice as he gazed out at the world before them, he would say that Aziraphale had been one of them. He had never seen his true form - his  _ original, god given  _ form. Not the one that had been carved out of hellfire and agony and despair. It was then he made a decision. If he could no longer be Raphael, he would take the title of Crawly and be him. He would become but another one of the angels that had followed Lucifer in Falling, instead of the stupid Archangel Raphael who asked to many questions. Who acted like it was his given due to be given answers that he did not need, at least that is what They would tell him.

He stayed on Earth, after that. Told his… ‘superiors’ down in Hell that he was likely to be better at causing general up on Earth rather than down in the pit with the others. They had no reason to prevent him from doing so.

He remained on Earth for the next six thousand years. He hadn’t been expecting for Aziraphale to remain on Earth as well, but he supposed Heaven would want an Angel to be there to prevent the singular Demon on Earth from destroying everything. He hadn’t been expecting for Aziraphale to agree to the Agreement as easily as he had. He hadn’t thought that one day he would change his name to Crowley, after the dark winged birds that had begun to pop up all over the world that the humans had taken to saying symbolised death, and he certainly hadn’t expected Aziraphale to ever say his new name with such a soft and happy tone.

It was Aziraphale who made him forget about Raphael, at least as much as he  _ could  _ forget. He became a demon that wasn’t just a senseless creature who destroyed everything he touched. He became a fallen angel that didn’t have any expectations from anyone to be an all powerful being as he had been close to as an Archangel. He became Crowley, Aziraphale’s friend. He became… something close to human, but not quite. It was the very first time he was able to make his own decisions and not worry about being cast out by his own parent.

When the Apocalypse happened, or rather,  _ didn’t  _ happen, he thought he had lost Aziraphale for good. When he ran into the angels flaming bookstore, he thought Aziraphale was gone forever. After the  _ no! Aziraphale!  _ and the  _ bastards!,  _ after his voice had begun to go hoarse, his thoughts drifted. He wasn’t good at mourning sober. He had never had to  _ mourn _ for anyone but himself before. He was unable to stop himself from thinking ‘ _ I should have stopped this _ ’, ‘ _ if i told him who I was he would be fine _ ’, ‘ _ this is all my fault’ _ . He hadn’t shut down since the 1400’s. And before that, he hadn’t shut down since he had fallen. Somehow, this was worse. Worse than the burning, worse than the agony and despair and horror as he realised what was going on. Worse than anything he had ever felt.

Because Aziraphale didn’t deserve to die. That was Crowley’s job, that was  _ always  _ Crowley’s job. He was too fall to be an example for asking too many questions. He was to deliver the antichrist because if he failed he would be easy to punish because he was so  _ simple _ . He—

It shouldn’t be Aziraphale. Never,  _ never  _ Aziraphale.

He got more drunk than he had ever been, even after seeing the chaos of the Spanish Inquisition and drinking for a week straight until Aziraphale—

It was the first time he had prayed since God had made him Fall.

It hadn’t been a straight line of thought, –  _ HAH like anything about him had ever been ‘straight’ _ – more a stream of thought that didn’t have any specific line of direction, or end.

He prayed that Aziraphale was okay. He prayed that he be forgiven for asking questions. He prayed to his Parent asking Them to bring his best friend back and he would be  _ fine  _ with dying in his stead.  _ Please _ .  _ Please _ .

It hurt so much. Not the praying*. But the fact that even as he prayed God would never,  _ never  _ answer him. As They had always done. He knew it was what he deserved, for failing  _ again _ . Archangel Raphael, the  _ Healer _ , unable to ever heal anyone. Not anymore. Not since he Fell. What good  _ he  _ was, a demon – a  _ Fallen Angel  _ – who couldn’t do more than bring a single dove back and even then his soul would  _ scream  _ at his actions.

He didn’t know how long he drank for. He was too lost in his own traitorous, angry,  _ self loathing _ thoughts.

And then Aziraphale had appeared in front of him and Crowley had thought he was a hallucination but he  _ wasn’t  _ and then he was off too Tadfield after forcing himself sober and he was driving through fire that destroyed his Bentley, but there was Aziraphale** and then there was the antichrist and the horsemen and then—

And then it was over.

It was dizzying. It was… quiet. Aziraphale was leading him away from the Air Base, talking quietly with the witch and the boy, but he was numb.

Lucifer had been his brother once. His stupid little brother with a knack for irratating him and playing pranks and— but he had become a monster. Not an angel anymore, not even a  _ demon _ . Just… Satan. It didn’t stop the pain from bubbling up beneath the surface of his soul. Years worth of holding back everything didn’t help anything. He was grieving for the second time that day but all he could do was feel numb. He should be happy. They had stopped the Apocalypse (well, Adam had). Satan wasn’t about to squish them until his massive red hands. The antichrist wasn’t an evil being like everyone had believed.

Crowley didn’t care.

Maybe if he hadn’t Fallen, he could have helped his brother. He could have prevented his change. But he was weak,  _ useless _ . All he had been able to do was talk and then watch as everything finished.

He didn’t know the Antichrist could hear everything he was thinking. He had no reason to know.

When he sat next to Aziraphale on the bench by the road, waiting to return the Horsemen’s toys, Aziraphale’s shoulder brushed his own and he was slowly brought back to reality.

He didn’t jump, just quietly turned to the angel. And there was a relieved smile on Aziraphale’s face when he did do. But he didn’t say anything about it and for that Crowley was grateful.

On the bus, as they quietly headed to Crowley’s home in the night, Aziraphale asked a question.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

And he didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but the words were out of his mouth before he could prevent it. Maybe it had been on the tip of his tongue since he had thought the angel dead, maybe he just wanted to see if the name would burn like always, maybe he just was tired of keeping it to himself and maybe he was tired of lying to himself. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted someone to know who he was but not judge him for it.

Maybe he just wanted to tell Aziraphale, because he was tired of keeping secrets and he knew Aziraphale would always see him as Crowley, no matter his past.

Maybe he would never know.

But still, he tried.

 

“My name was Raphael.”

And for the first time since he had fallen, the name didn’t burn.

**Author's Note:**

> * though, the praying did hurt. demons aren’t supposed to pray. crowley was in too much agony to care.  
> ** but not Aziraphale. It was a lady. But he could feel Aziraphale’s soul in there and that was all that mattered.
> 
> I’m sorry, Crowley.


End file.
